


Like a Lead Balloon

by GlitterSkullFairy



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Autism, Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Meltdown/Shutdown, Other, Post Armageddon't, Stimming, autistic author, aziraphale is strong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterSkullFairy/pseuds/GlitterSkullFairy
Summary: There were certain things that Aziraphale always seemed to find more difficult than other people.  There were always things about himself that he knew were a little peculiar.  He was fine with that, but it was something that he tended to keep private.  Until he finds the events of the near-Apocalypse catching up with him, and Crowley notices that something is troubling him.A series of not-very-plotty experiences in which Aziraphale becomes more open and shares his autistic side with the one person who accepts him no matter what.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 139
Kudos: 149





	1. Too Heavy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers!  
> I am venturing into a bit of unknown territory here, as I don't know exactly where this is going, except that I have been on a journey of discovery about my own autistic nature and this is my way of exploring and sharing that.  
> Aziraphale's traits are a mixture of my own, and details that I have picked up from the show and specualated upon.

"It's heavy. Too heavy," Aziraphale muttered under his breath for the bazillionth time. (Bazillionth being a made up word, but the most accurate estimate he could come up with for a problem that had been on his mind since the dawn of humanity.) "Doesn't make sense." 

Of course it doesn't matter that it doesn't make sense, and he had come to the conclusion roughly five millennia ago that people- be they angel, human or demon- said far too many things that didn't make any sense whatsoever. He had to wade through a new batch of idiom every few decades, and he'd heard some utterly ridiculous phrases. It helped to know the origin of a phrase and see it as a kind of metaphor, but even so some phrases just conjured up mental images that were disturbing, or simply confusing, and those ones seemed to get stuck in his brain like a good toffee in your teeth. 

He knew he should probably just get over it and ask Crowley. But he could never quite work himself up to it. Sometimes, when they'd been drinking, he thought about asking, but was unsure how to phrase the question in a way that wouldn't sound too obsessive. And by the time he'd taken a few moments of quiet to consider the matter, the moment had passed and Crowley would be mooting some theory about the nature of evil, relative morality or something about the anatomy of ducks. 

Ducks. Water off a duck's back.

That one made a kind of sense, because it was true that ducks had a natural resistance to water, and it did tend to run off their backs without them getting particularly wet. But why anyone would use such a phrase to describe a lack of emotional response was a peculiar notion.

"Too heavy. Too solid," he muttered again, pressing his knees together and tapping his lower lip. Once again he was caught up in the feeling of that moment- confusion, surprise, the anxiety of the unexpected. The bastard didn't even have the decency to start a conversation with any of the usual greetings. Aziraphale had been in the midst of a moment of personal crisis and doubt, when somebody had slithered up _his wall_ and changed form to speak to him. His mind was too busy to get any sense out of the words. But when repeated, the phrase made no more sense. He tried to discard it and focus on the next sentence, but as the rain fell it echoed around his head.

It had kept echoing for over six thousand years. 

_"Well that went down like a lead balloon."_

It was getting ridiculous. There was only one thing to do. He would have to ask Crowley about it.

Which was, of course, easier said than done. He would need to set up a meeting, perhaps come up with some excuse as to why he needed to talk, but it would have to be a valid one because making up an outright lie was out of the question. Lying was difficult and intensely uncomfortable at the best of times, but to attempt a lie when he was already under stress from trying to start a conversation about something as important as this was just asking for an episode.

He opened the desk drawer and pulled out an old half-crown, rolling it over the backs of his fingers. It took focus, and the undulating movements felt calming, and it helped to ease the busyness in his brain.

Take it one step at a time. Think of a plan. Make a list. Mentally prepare with potential scripts. Then, possibly, it might get done. 

Or perhaps he might think better with a full stomach. Sushi. Sushi was nice- flavourful, soft, easy to eat.

When he got back, the phone rang. _Speak of Devil._ Another one he wasn't fond of. Only in this case it was only a demon, calling to warn him of the impending apocalypse. 

Bugger. 

***

Aziraphale was riding a natural high. They'd actually pulled it off- saved the world, saved each other- he was buzzing with the success of it. He tried to keep from bouncing on his toes too obviously, but there was an undeniable spring in his step as they walked to the Ritz. 

The food tasted sweet and moist and the wine was an excellent vintage, full of flavour. And as for company… Aziraphale felt bold, more confident around Crowley than ever before. He told jokes and made him laugh- actually laugh out loud- and it was brilliant. It would have been the perfect time to ask him about the balloon, and he was almost sure Crowley would have explained it perfectly, but what if he didn't? What if he thought it was another joke and just laughed? No, it wasn't worth the risk of spoiling an otherwise perfect evening.

Eventually the restaurant quietened and they realised everyone else had gone home.

They exchanged glances, not quite ready to part ways. "Well, I suppossse," Crowley began, his wine glass swaying slightly, "we ought to think about heading home."

"Yes. Now that I have a home again. I do hope Adam managed to get everything right."

"It felt homely enough when I was there."

Aziraphale rolled the edge of his napkin between his fingers. "I'm sure. But you know me."

"I suppose you can always put things back if they were a little out of place. I could give you a hand if you like."

The idea was only mildly terrifying. But after one had been discoporated and faced Satan himself, terrifying had a whole new scale to work with. The bookshop being potentially different was probably only a seven. Maybe an eight. Best not to think about it. "Right now, I think what I'd like more than anything else is to curl up with a mug of cocoa and a few books and not move from my armchair for a fortnight."

"Hmm. Replace the cocoa with a single malt, and the chair for a bed, and I could do the same."

"Reading?"

"Nah. Just sleeping."

"Don't want to take your new car out for a spin?"

"It can wait. Unless you're finally ready to take a trip somewhere?"

The question was left hovering in the air for a moment while Aziraphale processed the question and came up with a suitable answer. "Not tonight. My armchair beckons."

Crowley sighed dramatically. "Right-o. At least let me walk you home."

"Wouldn't that be rather out of your way?"

"Pffft. 'Sssfine."

The night air was mild. Not so long ago the stars would have been beautiful over London, but now they hid behind a haze of fog and electric light. He missed them terribly. He wanted to tell Crowley as much, but his tongue refused to form the words and all he managed to get out was a weary sigh.

That's when it hit him. Not exactly like a literal truck, as the saying went, but with an amount of emotional damage equivalent to the physical damage such a truck might cause to a human body. Feelings he couldn't put a name to at first, beyond the fact that it hurt, but millennia of experiencing episodes like this meant that he had developed strategies to cope with them a little better than at first. The first step was to observe himself and name each feeling.

The nausea twisting in his gut was fear. Well there had been plenty of reasons to be afraid. From trying to persuade the archangels that war was a bad idea, attempting to take the message higher, getting bloody _discorporated_ and taking such a huge risk to get back to earth, then everything that happened at the airfield and Heaven and Hell coming after them- he had every justification to be terrified.

The buzzing in his head, the repetitive thoughts, the flicking of his fingers- that was anxiety. Had he got it wrong? It seemed to have turned out okay, but going through it he hadn't been so sure. He believed in the cause, but it was all his actions, all his words and decisions and mistakes that troubled him. Should he have done things differently? 

That sinking feeling, that was a very unpleasant one. That was guilt. Wrong boy. Oh that poor boy, what had they done to him? And he'd said such horrible things to Crowley, made him angry and upset. The one person who was always there for him, even when the world was ending…

Crowley fell in step closer beside him, not quite touching but near enough to feel the warmth of his body. The scent of evil was almost overwhelming, but there was a familiarity to it that was comforting too.

There- that tightness in his chest, that ache- that was the feeling of being alone, isolated, cut off from any connection with his own kind. The only person he felt close to was his adversary. For thousands of years they'd danced around each other, closer and closer, like two planets in a decaying orbit. It was forbidden. But it was the only thing he had. And now he really was an outcast, they had become their own side, and that was new and exciting, but also terrifying. They were close enough now that they might collide at any moment, and that couldn't possibly end well, could it? Except that he hoped it might, that somehow they could stay together. What if when they got back to the bookshop, he asked Crowley to stay? He panicked even more at the thought, a tiny whine escaping his throat. If he couldn't talk about missing the stars, how could he say something like that? 

"Are you alright Angel?"

Aziraphale wanted to say no, he was pretty far from alright, everything that had happened in the last few weeks- the past eleven years- was catching up with him all at once and he felt like he might fall to pieces at any moment. He’d argued with Gabriel and Beelzebub. He’d stood his ground in the face of Satan himself. He’d ask the archangel Michael to miracle him a towel and that was suddenly a lot less funny than it was a few hours ago. His mouth twitched and his breath caught and he couldn't get a single word past his lips. Instead, he folded his hands over his waist, squeezing his interlocked fingers together to feel the pressure between them, his thumb pushing at the soft pads of his palm. He let his mind focus in on the sensation, let it ground him enough to keep going.

Crowley kept talking. Something about ice-cream. Aziraphale was struggling to follow his words amidst the noise of the traffic and the glare of the streetlights. Then without warning, a motorbike zoomed past, engine roaring, and a black cab blared its horn loudly. He jumped and spun towards the sound, hand reaching to his hip for a sword that wasn't there. He couldn't get enough air. He didn't even need air.

"Angel?" Crowley was standing in front of him, taking off his shades and giving him a concerned look. "It's okay, it's just traffic. Just humans and their noisy machines."

Aziraphale looked at him. It was so much easier when he was wearing the sunglasses. There was too much intensity behind those golden eyes. He focused on a point between the demon's brows instead. He should probably be saying something, but it was like trying to read from a blank page.

"I think we need to get you home. Would it help if I held your hand?" He held out his open palm, and Aziraphale stared at it, managing a small sound that was too close to a whimper for his liking. Crowley turned sideways and stuck out an elbow. "Or you could take my arm."

Aziraphale took a breath and considered. He wanted very much to hold Crowley's hand again, but not like this. An elbow was better. Less intimate. Less demanding. He slipped one hand through the angle, knowing he could let go whenever he needed to, but right now what he needed more was some outside momentum to keep one foot moving in front of the other. It wasn't far. They could be home in ten minutes from here.

Crowley smiled, put his shades back on, and patted Aziraphale's hand gently. Too many feelings. The thrill of the touch of Crowley’s skin, the longing for something more that has always been feared and forbidden, the possibility that it might not be so any longer, the anxiety that getting closer could change everything he’d ever known… Too many feelings. Aziraphale winced.

"Right. Sorry." Crowley shoved the offending hand into his trouser pocket. "Shall we?"

Aziraphale, finding strength from his friend's kindness, managed a tiny nod. They started walking, but the pace was slow. Everything seemed harsh, too loud, too bright. He kept his eyes lowered and flinched whenever a car went by. Luckily it was late enough that there were few pedestrians, and those they met seemed to give them a wide berth. No doubt that was Crowley's influence. 

As they walked towards a shop with a flashing neon sign, Aziraphale turned his face towards Crowley's shoulder.

"Is it the light?"

Another nod. The light was part of it, a small part really, but right now he didn't have the wherewithal to deal with anything. He felt like a stream that had run completely dry.

"That I can help with," Crowley whispered, and with a gentle whoosh unfurled his wings. He held one over and around Aziraphale like a dark canopy. It provided some relief.

"Don't worry about the humans," Crowley went on, his voice as gentle as a feather. "It's late night in London, they're just going to think we've been to some big gay costume party." He scoffed. "Can you imagine that? Perhaps we should try it sometime. I'd have to work out the mechanics of man-made wings, of course, just in case anyone asked…"

Aziraphale let the words wash over him. He knew Crowley was trying to keep it jovial, to reassure him, but he couldn't focus enough to get the meaning out of the sound. Just one step. Then another.

"Here we are. Bookshop." They were standing at the door, and Aziraphale patted himself absently, looking for his keys. Crowley snapped his fingers and pushed open the door. "Armchair and cocoa, wasn't it?"

He led Aziraphale to the chair in the dark and got him sat down. He handed him a worn tome from a nearby pile. "I'll put the kettle on. Won't be a minute."

Aziraphale breathed deeply, finally feeling safe. But so tired- oh, so very tired. He ran his fingertips over the cover of the book, feeling every crease in the leather, the grooves of the title inlaid with gold. Hamlet. Of course it would be. He opened it up and brought it to his face, inhaling deeply. It smelt like home. With his forehead pressed to the paper, keeping the pages carefully tilted away, he let out as quiet a sob as he could manage. In a few moments the tears were pouring down his face, all the stress of recent events purging itself from his body.

Still, he barely made a sound.

He heard quick footsteps as Crowley returned, and could smell the cocoa, but he couldn't move, couldn't take the book away from face, couldn't let go of the corner of his waistcoat where his fingers rubbed at the worn velvet. 

"It's okay, Angel," Crowley said, putting down the mug. "I'm here. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Aziraphale sobbed again, louder this time. His emotions were running away from him, as they often did, but until now there had never been anyone to witness it. He wished he could speak. The words were there now, but they were all tangled up like coathangers and he couldn't find the place to start.

It had all been just too much. Life used to be simple. A small miracle every decade or so, a few random acts of kindness was enough to keep faith alive. Battling for the survival of the planet, the fear of losing it all… 

Change. Why did it all have to keep changing? Couldn't things just pause as they were for a bit, just to let him catch his breath? Couldn't people just leave him alone so he could take off the mask for a while, and stop trying to be everything they expected him to be? Couldn't he just rest? 

"I'm here," Crowley said again. And there was another paradox of emotion- Aziraphale was glad that his friend hadn't left him, and treasured that sense of being supported and held, but he also wanted to be left alone, because the presence of another soul was added pressure, another corner of his mind worrying about how he should behave, what Crowley was doing, the very weight of being observed. 

"Right. Well, I'm not leaving you like this. So I'm just going to sit here quietly while you do whatever you need to do to get it all out of your system, and when you're ready for whatever happens next, let me know."

Aziraphale cried and cried, his head falling lower by degrees. When the book wavered in his trembling hand, Crowley took it gently and laid it on the table. Aziraphale continued to sob and wail into his palm. Sometimes, when he thought of certain things that were extra uncomfortable, he would slam his palm on the arm of the chair or stamp his feet.

After a long while, the worst of it passed, and he was left feeling broken, more exhausted than ever before. Still, he couldn't speak. It was too much effort. He ached too deeply.

Crowley was still sitting on the floor at his feet, arms and legs tangled together and his head resting on a raised knee. His wings were gone now.

Aziraphale took several deep breaths and swayed side to side in his chair until the sky brightened outside the window. It got light so early in summer.

He looked at Crowley and nodded.

Crowley miracled him a large handkerchief and waved it at him. Aziraphale took it and wiped his face. "Goodness me, I must look a frightful mess."

"You're beautiful," Crowley reassured him. "You're always beautiful."

"I'm sorry you had to see all that."

"I'm not. I'm just glad you didn't have to go through it alone. Are you ready to talk about it?"

Aziraphale shook his head, pressing his lips together. The flood of emotions surged up, threatening to overwhelm him again.

Crowley picked up the mug, which obediently started steaming again. "Then I suggest you take this, and this," Aziraphale took the drink and another book- a compilation of Greek myths- "and indulge in some well deserved self-care."

"I suppose I could be tempted."

Crowley smirked. "Yes. I'm proud of that one. Can't remember if it was yours or mine."

"Combined effort, I think. There was rather a lot of wine involved." He sipped his cocoa. The heat and sweetness flooded his taste buds, providing much needed comfort. "A hug in a mug," he said, and giggled. 

"Wasn't that soup?"

"Possibly."

"Of course, if you wanted a real hug, I suppose I could accommodate you. If you needed it."

"That is far too complex a question and I don't have the capacity to deal with it just at the moment."

"Well, the offer stands if you change your mind."

Aziraphale smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I might hold you to that."

"Right. Well if you're back to making terrible puns you must be getting better. If you don't mind, I might have a short kip on the settee while you read. Wake me if you need anything."

"Crowley-"

"Don't you dare start getting all sappy and telling me how sweet I am or I might fall apart too, and that _won't_ be pretty. Now shut up and read your book. I'm knackered."

"Yes, Crowley."

***

Apart from the occasional murmur from a sleeping demon (who didn't snore, in spite of Aziraphale's expectations) things were as quiet as he could wish. No customers knocked at the door, and Aziraphale soaked up his Greek myths like a saline drip. After that, he fancied something a bit lighter, and was delighted to find Dickens was next in the pile. Oliver Twist. Perfect. When that was done, he picked up Hamlet again, and then continued working his way down the pile.

Eventually Crowley raised his head. His sunglasses had fallen off at some point, and he blinked blearily. "You're giggling. What's so funny?"

"H.G. Wells. The invisible man is running down the street without a stitch on. Never ceases to amuse me."

Crowley chuckled. "You're secretly a little bit naughty, aren't you?"

"If I am, I attribute it entirely to your influence."

"You're welcome. What time is it?"

"Oh, um," Aziraphale checked his pocket watch. "Half past three. But I'm afraid I couldn't tell you which day. I rather lost track."

Crowley pulled back a sleeve to check his own watch. "Hrrhm. That can't be right. Armageddon plus twenty-six? Have I really been asleep for almost a month?"

Aziraphale looked guiltily at the stack of books to his left. "It's possible. I was absorbed in my reading."

"So. Go on then. What was that last night? Or last month, or whatever."

"It was… my emotions don't seem to follow the usual timeline. Everything caught up with me all at once. I was… _having a moment."_

"Ah. I see. Well that says it all, really." Crowley reached an arm out and felt around on the floor for his shades, giving them a quick blow before putting them back on.

"Quite.” Aziraphale stood and looked around. The bookcases were all perfectly aligned, and a quick glance along one shelf proved that not a single book was out of place. He recognised the flow of the colours and the ripple of the heights of the spines. Adam had brought it all back just as it was. “Perhaps we ought to stretch our legs. A walk in the park?"

"Excellent idea. We can stop for some overpriced coffee on the way."

Aziraphale smiled. He wanted to ask. He couldn't ask. His fingers fluttered and he phrased the question in several different ways in his head while Crowley worked his way through a truly astonishing series of stretches.

"I don't suppose… There’s something… I mean, I'd like to take your arm again. If you don't mind." Bother. That wasn't it. Also inelegant. And where had that come from anyway? 

Crowley stopped mid-stretch and made a slightly strangled noise.

Aziraphale's thumb went back to the worn corner of his waistcoat. He’d done it again, said the wrong thing, and now Crowley was going to be upset. He didn’t want Crowley to be upset. He tried to take it back. "Sorry. I've overstepped. Forget I said anything."

"No, it's alright,” Crowley said quickly, standing up and straightening his clothes. His face contorted in ways that were completely incomprehensible. “I mean, yes. I mean, no, I don’t mind at all." He stepped over to Aziraphale and stuck out his elbow. "Allons-y!"

Aziraphale beamed. He took Crowley's arm and didn't need to say anything at all. Lead balloons could wait for another day.


	2. Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk in the park and some romance brewing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful and supportive comments.  
> The romance starting creeping in earlier than expected (who am I kidding, I should have known) but Crowley wouldn't stop being _nice._  
>  It might be a bit of an emotional roller coaster. Welcome to the autism ride.

The coffee shop was noisy and busy. Aziraphale didn't mind that so much when he was well rested. Having to wait in a queue gave him more time to look at the boards and decide what he wanted.

It was the making decisions part that he found most stressful. He tended to frequent restaurants he knew well, so he could think about it before he went. That's why he enjoyed the sushi bar- the owner knew what he liked, and he didn't even have to ask anymore. 

His eyes scanned the board. When did coffee stop being just coffee? And the different sizes were utterly perplexing. He stood frozen for a minute, as his train of thought came to a screeching halt and fell off completely off the tracks. He didn't even notice Crowley saying his name. The light touch on his shoulder startled him.

"Aziraphale? Still with me?"

"Oh, um…" Bother. His mind was still juggling options and didn't have enough leftover to form a reply.

"More cocoa? Vanilla latte? Cappuccino with extra froth?"

The words were just extra water being poured into an already overflowing bucket. Aziraphale's eyes got stuck on the way the light caught the edge of his sunglasses and stared blankly.

A small crease appeared in the centre of Crowley's brows and then vanished. He turned to the barista. "I'll take a large Americano with an extra shot, vanilla- no, caramel latte, small, small cappuccino, and a small hot chocolate with all the cream and extra trimmings. All to take away. Oh, and a macaroon." He looked back at Aziraphale and grinned. 

Neither of them said anything as they waited, nor as they walked to the park, but Crowley seemed strangely pleased with himself, holding the cardboard tray of beverages balanced on his fingertips. They found their usual bench and sat down.

"Are we expecting company?" Aziraphale asked.

"Nah, I could just see the panic brewing behind your eyes, and decided the easiest way to deal with it was just to get a bit of everything so you could try them all and choose what you like best."

"Isn't that wasteful?"

Crowley made a sound that was mostly extended vowels. "Not that I'm bothered about that kind of thing, being evil and all, but if you need reassurance I could argue not, if it saves you distress and means you'll be able to make an easier decision next time I take you out."

"You're planning on us doing this again?"

"Naturally."

Aziraphale thought for a moment. "You can be very persuasive, you know."

Crowley's grin broadened. "My favourite part of the job. I've always been good at that bit."

"You're trying to tempt me!" Aziraphale accused.

"Oh, come on, you love it. Besides, I'm unemployed now, I need to get my kicks somewhere."

"Well, I suppose, now that I'm unemployed, it's no longer my duty to thwart your wiles."

Crowley paused and bit his lip, but then cleared his throat and set the tray on the bench between them. His tongue darted out briefly as he lifted one of the cups and removed the lid. "In that case, you should try the cocoa before all the cream melts."

Aziraphale took it carefully and looked inside. "There are tiny pink marshmallows. And chocolate sprinkles."

"Yesss," Crowley purred. "Go on. Indulge yourself."

He put the cup to his lips and tipped it gently. It was only three quarters full, to make room for the toppings, and he was a little concerned he would end up with cream on his nose. It was rather good cocoa, once he found it, and he smiled and licked his lips. He put it down to find Crowley still gazing at him. 

"Very nice," he said. "Although I feel to enjoy it properly, one would need to sit at a table and use an actual spoon."

"I think you may have a point. Perhaps we'll eat in next time."

"I prefer it out here. It's awfully busy in that place. I don't know how anyone can hold a conversation. Which one should I try next?"

"Cappuccino," Crowley said, holding up another cup. It was rather light when Aziraphale took it, and he remarked on the fact. 

"That's because of all the bubbles."

He pried off the lid to find a light dusting of chocolate powder in stripes across the top. At first all he got was a mouthful of foam, which made him giggle. "It's like trying to drink clouds."

Crowley shook his head.

"What is it?"

"No, nothing, just the whole, angels and clouds thing. I'm picturing you sitting on a cloud, drinking fluffy coffee, and it's… well, disgustingly cute." He sipped from his own cup.

"You've been up there, you know it's nothing like that."

"I know. Still funny though."

"I'm not certain if I should find that offensive."

"I'll leave that up to you. What's your verdict on the cappuccino?"

"I'm not sure. Once you get down to the coffee, it's rather… not bitter, just, perhaps potent? Which might be a good thing in certain circumstances, but I'm still feeling a little delicate around the edges."

"Still?"

Aziraphale put the cappuccino back in the tray and reached for the final cup. "I know I'm being ridiculous. I know that after everything that we've been through, I should feel stronger, but I don't."

"But you are strong. You're the strongest person I know."

"Then why do I still feel like I'm about to crack apart at any moment?"

"I don't know. But I want you to remember that if you do, I'm going to be right here to help you pick up the pieces."

"That's something, then." He sniffed the latte and sighed more happily, then took a careful sip. "Oh! Oh, that's perfect!" He tried it again. "It's smooth, and sweet, but I can still taste the coffee."

"Thought you'd like that one."

"Yes, it's certainly my favourite."

Crowley smiled smugly and took the macaroon out of its paper bag. He broke it roughly in half and passed the larger piece to Aziraphale, dunking his own in the coffee and taking a bite.

Aziraphale followed suit and then nibbled thoughtfully. He finally spoke as Crowley dusted the crumbs from his fingers. "I don't know what's next, Crowley. I feel like I've completed the final chapter of the book of my life, and it should have been a happy ending, but when I turn the page, all that's left is a blank sheet."

"Well, I suppose that's where the next story begins."

"And what's that one going to be about?"

"You really have no idea?"

"Everything I believed in, the whole purpose of my entire life, is just… gone. I've been abandoned by Heaven. And I very much doubt Hell wants anything to do with you either. What do we have left?"

"Well, there's the world."

"Yes. Yes, that's good. We have that."

"And we have each other. I'm not your adversary anymore."

"I don't think you have been for quite some time. You're my friend, Crowley. My one true friend, and that means-"

"Aaah, no, don't. That's almost as embarrassing as your magic tricks."

Aziraphale kept nibbling. "The leaves are starting to turn. It won't be long before autumn."

"And here's me, having slept for a month, and not given any thought to my Halloween costume yet."

"I've never celebrated Halloween."

"Haven't you? Not even in the early days when it was all about scaring my former colleagues away?"

"It always fascinated me, as an idea. As if a demon would be frightened by a few painted sacks and carved up turnips with candles in."

"Well, not me, obviously. Someone like Hastur, maybe…" He took another gulp. "You could come with me, if you like. I'll show you how it's done. It could be the first chapter of your sequel."

"Come with you? Where?"

"To a Halloween party. I'd have to approve your costume, of course."

Aziraphale chuckled. "We could both get our wings out."

"Now there's an idea I like. We'd still need outfits though. I don't suppose you've still got an old robe lying around somewhere?"

"If I did, it would be exceptionally dusty by now."

"You have, haven't you? You've kept something."

Aziraphale shifted, but squeezed his knees tighter together. The pressure was soothing. "I don't like letting go of things. Anyway, I thought Halloween was supposed to be spooky. Since when is dressing up as angel spooky?"

Crowley gave him a curious look. "You have met Gabriel?"

"There is that." Aziraphale shuddered and dunked the last bit of his biscuit before popping it into his mouth.

"I'll look up events later, see if I can find us a good party."

They drank quietly for a while. There were still a few birds up in the trees, and Aziraphale focussed on the sound of their singing. It reminded him of the Garden, and Crowley's words echoed around in his head again. _Lead balloon. Lead balloon. That went down like a lead balloon. Too heavy. How could it go down unless it could go up in the first place? "Too heavy."_

"What was that?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale froze. He must have said something out loud. He hadn't meant to. "What?" he said, feigning ignorance. 

"You said something."

"No, it's nothing." The lie felt heavy and uncomfortable in his throat. "Just thinking to myself."

"About what?"

 _This is it. This the moment. He's given me an opening, he's literally asking me, I just have to spit it out._ "Nothing. Doesn't matter." He put the last of his drink back in the container. He wouldn't finish it now, his throat was too tight, his stomach fluttering. He clasped his hands over his waist again, partly to stop them from trembling, partly because he needed more tactile pressure to ground him. 

It felt like fear. He told himself that he didn't need to be afraid of Crowley, not anymore, not after everything. But that didn't help. His mind was spinning faster again, and he could hold onto it for now, but he knew it would catch up with him later, as soon as he had a moment alone. Just so long as Crowley didn't try to make him talk just now, it would be okay.

"Shall we walk?"

He nodded. That might help.

They got as far as the first rubbish bin and tipped their empties into it. Aziraphale suddenly felt that he didn't know what to do with his hands, so he did what he'd trained himself to do whenever he was nervous and clasped them together behind his back to keep them still. Crowley stuck out his bottom lip. "What happened to strolling arm in arm?"

"I just… it's not that, I mean, if you'd prefer…"

"Don't get yourself into a flap, I'm only teasing."

"Are you? Because sometimes it's difficult to know the difference."

"Yes, it would be, wouldn't it?"

"What on earth to you mean?" He didn't mean it to sound cross, but he was getting increasingly anxious and when that happened things didn't come out the way he intended. It was only as he snapped that he noticed just how stressed he was.

Crowley sighed, and gestured towards the path. They continued walking. "Look, I mean this in the best way possible, but you've always been a bit of an odd duck."

"There you go with the ducks, again. I'm not a river fowl, Crowley."

"I know, it's- it's just an expression," he waved it away. "The point is, you have certain peculiarities, and some of them can be very endearing but others can be difficult for you. And now I know how much it cost you, joining forces with me to save the world, how exceptionally strong and brave you had to be to do what you believed in, even when it meant breaking all the rules. But you did it anyway, and now you need support, and that's okay, I'm here to support you."

"I don't _need_ support. I've managed on my own since before the beginning of the world."

"You have. And that's brilliant."

"Now you're just being patronising."

"And you're being uppity. I'm trying to tell you that it's okay. That you don't have to worry because I want to help you-"

"So, now that you've saved the world, you want to swoop in and rescue me, do you? Because that's what you do. But we're not in the Bastille now, Crowley; we're not in the blitz. This is my life we're talking about. And you can't just-" he snapped his fingers upwards, "and make it all go away. It's who I am."

"I know. Heavens above, I know." Crowley gestured wildly as he talked. "And yes, I fully believe that you are quite capable of going through all this- whatever it is- alone. But you don't have to. I don't want you to. Because in case it escaped your notice, I've pretty much lost everything too, and maybe I can say good riddance to a lot of it, but _maybe_ I'm feeling in need of some company too." He stopped, laying a gentle hand on Aziraphale's arm. Aziraphale looked down at it, and back up at his face, but Crowley didn't let go. "We're friends, Angel. And we finally get to be real, proper friends without worrying about what anyone else is going to think about it. Whatever you're going through, I want to share it with you, good and bad, better or worse. Because that's what friends do."

Aziraphale looked down at the hand on his arm again, his anxiety swirling in a whirlpool with some other feeling he couldn't name. It made him feel hot and gave him goosebumps. The hand slowly slid down the sleeve of his coat and then quite deliberately found his palm. He curled his fingers around it and squeezed. When he looked up, Crowley was smiling. It was an odd smile, but it was a smile, and Aziraphale found himself smiling back. He nodded. "I think I could get used to that." He wasn't sure if he meant the sharing, or the hand, or possibly both.

Crowley kicked at the ground and they both started walking, still holding hands.

They barely spoke as they took their turn about the park. That suited Aziraphale. The hand-holding drew most of his attention. His mind was busy trying to come up with the details of the significance of that, but his heart was filled with warmth and happiness. Love too. He knew love when he felt it. Love came in many forms, of course, but his connection with Crowley was unique. It was easy to see that they were growing closer still, but Aziraphale had no frame of reference for what that would be like.

So they wandered. Sometimes Aziraphale would point out an amusingly shaped cloud, or giggle at the antics of the ducks, and sometimes their gait would bring them wandering closer together, and Crowley would lean in so that their shoulders touched. It made Aziraphale's spine tingle, which he decided, after a bit of thought, that he rather liked. 

He was looking at a particularly pretty tree, its leaves just starting to turn golden, when a thought struck him.

"It's been a month. You slept at my shop for a month."

"Yes. I must have been tired."

"Yes, but your lovely plants! They've gone all this time without water. Oh, I do hope they're still all right."

"Oh," Crowley said, with an air of surprise. "I hadn't thought of that. I ought to go check up on them, make sure they're not misbehaving. You could come with me, if you like."

"Um, I… that is, would you like me to come with you?"

"I would like it very much."

"Alright then."

Crowley grinned at him. "I left the car around here somewhere. Might have a few tickets by now."

When they found it, it had several tickets, and a clamp, and a few notices of removal which clearly hadn't turned out as planned. Aziraphale chuckled. "I can just picture them trying to tow it away, and the wretched thing refusing to move out of sheer stubbornness."

Crowley stroked the roof fondly. "She's a good girl. She's waited for me so patiently."

With a click of his fingers, the clamp disintegrated into dust, and a minor miracle restored it to form again on the pavement. He raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale. 

"Well, you can't blame the clamp, you've been parked illegally for a month. Those things look expensive, and the traffic warden might get into trouble if it doesn't come back."

"You're incorrigible," Crowley muttered, but he didn't seem to mind. "Still, at least we've still got access to our powers, so that's something."

"What, you thought that we might lose them?"

"It was a risk. They might have tried to cut us off after all that, but apparently not." 

The journey back wasn't as bad as Aziraphale expected. He rubbed his thumbs on the edge of his waistcoat and took deep breaths. Smooth, soft velvet, hard seams- the contrast in textures like a mantra or a string of prayer beads. Always soothing, for nearly two centuries. It should have been a lot more worn than it was, but Aziraphale kept it at just the right amount threadbare for maximum tactile comfort.

Crowley's flat was all lines and hard edges- apart from the plants. Poor things. They were all looking a bit lean, but they seemed to be making an effort to pick up their leaves and look as green as they possibly could. Aziraphale, feeling partly responsible, added some extra moisture to their soil while Crowley went round with his mister and a stern eye. The sunglasses had come off as soon as they were inside.

"You'll do," he said at last. "But I'll be keeping a close eye on you from now on, so you better keep shape up. There'll be no room for slackers." He turned to Aziraphale. "Dinner? Wine? We could watch a film or something. I've got _Into the Woods_ somewhere. The proper stage version, where it was still funny."

"That sounds nice."

"You're a terrible influence on me, Angel," Crowley moaned as he wandered into the next room, shedding his jacket as he went.

"Or a good one, depending on your perspective," Aziraphale replied, following. The room was just as they'd left it when they swapped bodies. The huge chair was set at a funny angle where he had practised sitting and sauntering. It had been easy to do in Crowley's body, which had a fluid tendency to lean into the shape of the thing under it. It felt rather like being drunk, as he was confident and free, but his mind had felt oddly clear, with thoughts flowing in and out of it like a freshwater stream in the moonlight. It had been dark in there too- hard to find hope.

"I'll order in. What do you fancy?"

His brain stalled again. "Um…"

"Sorry, I keep forgetting. Let's narrow it down. Pizza, curry, or chips?"

"Not pizza. The melted cheese disagrees with me."

"Oooh, I know, chips and curry sauce. We can throw in some fish bites and a battered sausage."

"Jolly good."

Crowley made the call and Aziraphale took off his frock coat and laid it on the ornate desk. They rearranged the furniture while they waited- mostly with actual lifting, as they didn't want to overdo the frivolous miracles. No point in drawing extra attention when it wasn't required. There was still a brand new sofa that Aziraphale had miracled up for himself last time, and it was a simple matter to turn it to face the large television when one had angel (or demon) strength. The rest was set aside out of the way, and Aziraphale tried not to think too much about all the empty space. 

They settled down to watch the film with a bottle of red and Aziraphale felt a thrill of excitement as the overture began. He hummed along, tapping his knees, until he noticed Crowley looking at him, and then folded the hands together again.

"Don't stop on my account. I like seeing you enjoy yourself."

"You do? I thought you might be embarrassed. Like with the magic tricks."

"That's different. Besides, this is just us. I don't have to hide here, and neither do you."

"Well. Gosh. Ironically I feel rather self-conscious now."

"In that case, let me top up your wine."

"It's still mostly full."

"Well hurry up and drink some then."

Aziraphale took a few gulps and Crowley refilled his glass and turned sideways on the sofa, wriggling his toes underneath Aziraphale's thighs and making him yelp. Luckily, no wine was spilt in the process.

"What on earth are you doing, Crowley?"

"Sorry. Hangover from when I was a snake. Cold blooded, you see. Have to keep my extremities warm."

"Oh, I see. Well in that case, feel free."

"Wait, did you honestly believe that, or are you just pretending to so that I'll feel bad for teasing you?"

"Perhaps I'm just playing along because I like the feel of your toes," Aziraphale said innocently. It was true, they did feel nice. It was an added bit of sensation, which was good, especially in such a bare room, but it also reminded him that he wasn't alone and that Crowley trusted and accepted him. Liked being with him. 

Of course he'd had no idea whether Crowley was joking or not until he admitted it, but sometimes it was easier just to go along with things until one could work them out.

"Angel, you-" Crowley spluttered for a few moments.

"Shh. Here comes the witch."

The food arrived before one midnight was gone, and Crowley went to answer the door. He kept his feet on the floor while they ate, much to Aziraphale's disappointment, but the food was excellent- soft and moist and easy to swallow. They ate out the paper, to save on the washing up. Neither of them particularly wanted to admit that they didn't have the first clue about how to wash dishes, as it had always been easier to just miracle the mess away, but they were doing their best to conserve their powers in case they got noticed again.

At the end of the first act, Crowley licked his fingers, paused the film and gathered all the rubbish up to throw it away. He came back with a second bottle of wine. 

"How are your extremities doing?" Aziraphale asked. "Anything chilly?"

Crowley smiled. "Do you want my toes back?"

"I do," he answered simply. 

Crowley's feet found his way back underneath. By the time everyone found their way back into the woods, Aziraphale was holding his ankle. The second half was a lot darker than the first. When he had watched the show previously, that fact had puzzled him, but now he felt every word too keenly. Crowley gradually wiggled closer, until Aziraphale was hugging his whole leg.

The emotions were getting too strong. He felt the tears start to fall again, and was about to wipe one away when Crowley sat up and caught his hand.

_No one is alone… believe me… truly…_

Aziraphale looked into those golden eyes for as long as could before dropping his gaze to their joined hands. Slowly, he looked back up, and Crowley was staring at him so intently, and he reached up and brushed away a tear, but Aziraphale still didn't know what it meant, couldn't hope-

_Witches can be right, giants can be good,  
You decide what's right, you decide what's good, just remember…  
Someone is on your side…  
Our side…_

Crowley leaned in and pressed a single kiss to Aziraphale's cheek, right where the tear had been.

It was a strange sensation. Warm. Soft lips, but the touch firm enough not to tickle. But it was also the most intimate touch Aziraphale had ever experienced. And it was Crowley. 

He drew in a shuddering breath, his heart racing, head spinning. 

Crowley had kissed him.

He should say something. He should do something, respond somehow to let him know that this was a good thing, but he didn't have any words. He took Crowley's hand where it cupped his face, and squeezed it, and tried to smile, but wasn't sure if it came out right with all the other feelings that were swirling around and getting him all mixed up. 

And yet, even if he didn't have words of his own, there were words he could borrow. "Our side."

Crowley smiled like he understood. "Our side."


	3. Scales, snuggles and saints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale enjoys being squeezed. Crowley is good at squeezing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, my lovely readers! You have given me much encouragement, so I'm just going to keep writing. I am also very touched by the comments. Honestly, comments in whatever form they take are so precious to me, so even if it's just a few words or an emoji, don't feel shy. I would love to hear your responses.  
> I still don't know how much longer this will go on, and it might end up as a mini-series so I can do a sequel with a higher rating, but for now it is very soothing for me just to continue with things as they are. That is, lots of snuggling, lots of over-thinking, and maybe at some point some actual plot? Nah, I'm just kidding about the plot. This is just endless feel-good fluff.

It wasn't much longer until the film ended. Crowley moved to switch off the telly and then leaned back on Aziraphale's side. 

"Are we going to talk about this?" Aziraphale asked quietly.

"Only if you want to."

Crowley's tasselled necklace was dangling near his hand. He lifted his fingers and let them run through the silvery strands. It was fluid and soothing. "I don't _want_ to. But I think I _need_ to."

"Okay. What do you need to say?"

Aziraphale sighed. "I…" There had been things left unspoken between them for so long. He had a sense that their connection went deeper than an ordinary friendship, but even now he couldn't say for sure what Crowley wanted or expected. He needed to hear it out loud or he would just keep questioning and guessing.

"It's okay," Crowley said gently. It felt odd. Crowley wasn't usually gentle. He was usually all hard lines and abrupt corners. "I know it's tricky for you to get words out. Take your time, I'm not going anywhere."

Aziraphale twirled the metal between his fingertips, taking a moment to gather the meaning of the unexpected words. "You know? How?"

"Because I was you. I felt it. As soon as I put myself in your body, in your brain, it was… bam!" He waved his hand across his face dramatically. "Like some kind of barrier came down. Your head is a very busy place, Angel, I don't know how you keep up with it. Words all bouncing around inside, like repeating echoes. An endless loop of the crap Gabriel said to me. All the answers I could have given him if I was still me, getting stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth- which in retrospect is a good thing because what I wanted to say would have given the whole game away."

"Why, what did he say?"

"Oh no. No, I'm not putting that on you. Let's just say he was an utter bell-end about the whole thing, but he won't be bothering us anymore. I don't want to give you anything else to worry about."

Aziraphale pondered that. It was hard to imagine Crowley ever being stuck for words. "So… you felt it too? The talking thing?"

"Yes. And the rest of it. It must be part of how your brain's wired up. Clearly it all works, but it works differently, so I'll try to be patient."

There was another abrupt corner. "Doesn't that go against your demonic inclinations?"

"It's a skill I've learnt over the millennia it took you to notice me."

And there was another, but at least it brought them back to the point. "I noticed you. I most definitely noticed you. It was just… impossible. We were meant to be enemies. I couldn't… even though I wanted to, I had to hold it all back, hold it all in."

"What did you want?"

Aziraphale took another breath, and let it out, and then another while Crowley waited. He borrowed a phrase to get him started. "I wish… I wanted to live in a world where an angel could be free to love a demon. But everything was against us. It was all impossible. And now…"

"Now everything's changed. Now we are free. You've got your wish."

"I did. But it came at such a cost. Not that I resent paying it, because I don't, and I wouldn't change anything because I'm so happy that we're here now, but… it's hard. It's the second act. And I don't know where it will lead."

"I don't know either. But there's one thing I'm sure of, and that's that wherever I end up, I want you beside me."

"Why are you being so…"

"Nice?"

"Kind. Thoughtful. Undemonish."

"Well, you see, there's this angel, and he's a terrible influence on me-" Crowley said with a smile, and Aziraphale chuckled.

"I know the feeling." He pinched the chain, letting it dig into his skin. There was another question, one he had been afraid to ask before, but now it felt safe. Just to be sure. "Why don't you just walk away?"

"That's the problem, you see, I can't. You've become the single most important thing in my life. When I thought I'd lost you, it was… well, I can't go through that again."

Aziraphale finally stopped fiddling with the tassels and took Crowley's hand instead. "I believe I have a similar problem." There were other words filling his head, words that he wanted so desperately to get out, that were making his chest burn, and he knew this was the moment he should be saying them, but his lips refused to move. So he just sat there, holding hands, enjoying the closeness, adapting to the idea that all of this was permitted now.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, don't you?" Crowley asked after a while. 

"I know. I mean, I know, theoretically, that you won't judge me for anything I have to say. And I trust you, completely. It's just… even if I want to say something, especially something important, it's not as straightforward as that. There are things I've often wondered, things I've been meaning to ask you, but I never quite know how to bring up the subject."

"There's something in particular you want to ask?"

"There is. But I've been holding onto it for such a long time I don't know if I'm ready for the answer."

"Sounds important."

"That's the thing, you see, it's not important at all. It's silly and you'll probably laugh at me. I wouldn't blame you if you did. But it's been so long I've grown used to living with the question, and with everything else changing all about me, I think I'd like to hold onto it for a while. Until I've rebuilt a foundation on which to stand."

"I have to say I'm intrigued. But I'll wait. Just let me know when you're ready to ask."

"I will. I promise. In the meantime, I want to tell you something. Something I'm fairly sure you've already worked out, but I want to tell you all the same."

"I'm listening."

It was the kind of thing one would usually want to look at someone to say, but Aziraphale knew if he turned his head, the words would get stuck in his throat. So he stared into the blank screen instead, and saw a dark reflection of Crowley's face on his shoulder, tilted up towards own. Those lips had touched his cheek. Pandora's box was open, and there was no way to put all these feelings back inside, but he still had hope.

"I love you, Crowley."

"I know. You know I love you too?"

"I do. I think I've known it for some time. But it's good to hear it out loud."

"Not going too fast for you then?"

"Well, yes, quite frankly, this is absolutely terrifying, but it's also perfectly lovely, so there we are."

Crowley hummed and nuzzled his shoulder. "Where do we go from here, indeed?"

"Can we just… that is to say, do we have to go anywhere?"

"Nope. We don't have to go or do anything. Benefits of being immortal. We could just sit right here for the next… pff, I dunno, how does a decade sound?"

"Sounds just right."

They managed a day and a half, shifting positions every now and then, but always keeping physical contact. Aziraphale started fiddling with Crowley's necklace again, and Crowley smiled and played at running it over his hands, delighting in the way it made him smile and relax. Aziraphale also liked the feel of Crowley's hair between his fingers, the weight of his head in his lap. It was easier to meet his eyes when the gold spread over the white, the slit pupils widening as he gazed up. He wanted to ask about it. He pondered the best way for a couple of hours, thinking of the possible answers and imagining how the conversation would go while Crowley lay there perfectly content.

"Why do your eyes change like that?" he asked at last. 

"Why, what are they doing?"

"They've gone all golden. It's quite beautiful."

"Oh, that. As far as I can tell, it seemsss to happen when I go feral. Wait, you like it?"

"Mmm. I don't know if you noticed when you were me, but eyes can be rather uncomfortable. But when your eyes change like that, it's different. Not so… whatever it is that makes it unpleasant." He stroked Crowley's hair. "You don't seem particularly feral right now."

"Trust me, I'm ssso happy that my higher functions are melting away, and if I'm not careful, I might sprout scalesss at any moment."

Aziraphale smiled. "Also you're hissing."

Crowley wiggled. "Look, you have your peculiarities, and I have mine."

"I think it's rather cute."

"Cute? _Cute?"_ he pulled a face. "If I wasn't ssso relaxed, I'd- I'd…"

"Pin me up against the wall again?"

"Don't give me ideasss. I've gone feral, remember?"

"Crowley, you've sat with me at my most vulnerable without batting an eyelid-"

"Snakes don't have eyelids-"

"But you do, I've seen them, stop teasing. What was I saying?" His fingers flickered in the air as he chased his thoughts. "The point is, you don't seem bothered by my peculiarities, and I'm not at all bothered by yours. In fact I rather like them, because they're part of what makes you uniquely you. It doesn't matter if you're in snake form or humanoid any more than it matters if you're wearing a dress or trousers. You're always beautiful."

Crowley lay quietly for several minutes. "Do you really think I'm pretty?"

"Yes, my dear. I think you're the prettiest thing I've seen."

He swallowed a few consonants. "Angel, can I try something?"

"I expect so. But tell me what it is, first. I prefer not to be surprised."

"I'd like to turn back into a snake and curl around you. Would that be weird?"

Aziraphale took a few breaths to frame his response. "No, no I don't think that would be weird at all. I think I might very much like being squeezed by a snake, so long as the snake was you."

Crowley was grinning, his teeth looking a little sharper than usual. "Oh, you want to be squeezed? Well, I'm very good at squeezing, me. Just warn me if I get carried away. It would be terribly inconvenient if I suffocated you."

"Oh, goodness me, wouldn't it just. How on earth would I explain that to Gabriel?"

Crowley put on a posh voice. "Hullo Gabriel, yes, well, I survived the Hellfire, wot wot, but then I got accidentally discorporated while I was getting freaky with my demon friend, toodle-pip!"

Aziraphale scoffed. "That's not how I talk. I don't think I've ever used the word freaky." They both chuckled. "Is it freaky though?"

"Yes, Angel, it's freaky as ff- Friday. We're odd and unusual and very possssibly kinky, but there's nothing wrong with that."

"Right. Would it be easier if I stood up?"

"Yesss, but not as fun. I'd rather have you lying down. You might find the bed more comfortable."

"Oh, you wily thing. No, I think we ought to hold off on bedrooms for a while yet. That's rather personal."

"I'm not even going to ask for your reasoning on that. Lie down and get comfy."

Aziraphale took off his shoes, put a cushion by the arm of the sofa and turned to rest his head on it, lying on his back with his feet at the other end. Crowley stood up out the way, and then perched by Aziraphale's knees and began to change.

He was a very large snake, and at first Aziraphale wondered if they would both fit on the sofa, but he left some of his tail pooled on the floor as he rubbed his head in and out of Aziraphale's legs. "How'sssss thaat?" His voice was little more than a sibilant whisper, which was a soothing sound but took Aziraphale a few extra seconds to process and catch the meaning.

"Wonderful," he sighed. He reached out to stroke him as Crowley slithered up higher, head on his belly and tongue sniffing the air. His scales were so smooth, like touching a polished stone, but warm. He could feel the muscles bunching and moving underneath. 

Crowley nudged at his waist and he squealed. 

"Sorry. Bit ticklish there."

"Bit?" Crowley's eyes twinkled with mirth.

"I'm going to regret telling you that, aren't I?"

"Possssibly."

"Oh dear."

"Move. Need to get under."

Aziraphale arched his back and Crowley crawled underneath, emerging the other side and then diving around and under again. When he was done, there were three coils around Aziraphale's torso, his upper arms pinned to his sides but his hands free to keep stroking. The final coil went round the back of his neck, like a pillow, and Crowley's face hung down onto his shoulder. His tail was still wrapped around Aziraphale's legs.

Gradually, he began to squeeze. 

Aziraphale inhaled and exhaled slowly as his mind cleared. The thoughts that had been tumbling over one another since he began to question Heaven stopped jostling and ordered themselves into a manageable queue. As Crowley increased the pressure, he felt an ease wash over him, a physical relief that he could do nothing except be held, grounded in his body, and an emotional release at being completely accepted just as he was, odd and unusual and possibly kinky.

Sex wasn't something he'd ever given much thought to, but being this close to Crowley was very pleasant indeed. It made him curious more than anything. Not that he felt any particular physical urge other than to stay just like this.

He let his fingers trace patterns over the scales, enjoying their subtle texture, and his mind began to wander. The songs from _Into the Woods_ echoed in his head. He felt like Little Red Riding Hood, except that the wolf was all of Heaven and it was Crowley who had come to set him free. Heaven, as a place, was so bright, but he had seen a darkness in the other angels that had fractured the foundations of everything he had always believed. It was time to face that now. 

The people he had trusted to be on the side of good were corrupted, following their own desires at the expense of everything else. Good and evil were no longer absolute.

For the first time in eternity he was questioning his faith.

It's possible the Almighty was still watching over them from somewhere, but after recent events it seemed unlikely. She could have intervened and stopped it all, but She didn't. It had just been them, a bunch of children and a few clueless humans. 

Unless, like Crowley had joked at the bus stop, She had planned it this way all along. Was it a joke?

If Adam had been raised by the Dowlings, he might have turned out just as Hell wanted. Their home wasn't a particularly nurturing environment. Was it just a coincidence that the Youngs had turned up there at that precise moment? When the whole business had been so carefully planned?

And the fact that they were all there, in the end, where they needed to be, with that one word from the Wall wrapped up in a bloody lead balloon that had haunted him through the centuries, the one word from a conversation that was so deeply rooted in his being that even in the most terrifying moment he had the strength to say it out loud and halt the armies in their tracks.

Ineffable. 

It felt like an explosion going off in his head. The whole thing was meant to be after all.

Possibly. It was, of course, impossible to say for certain, being ineffable and all. But it took away a measure of confusion. It was another piece in an unfinished tapestry that still had too many gaps, and the edges weren't where he thought they were, but it gave him a bit more to work with.

He could still trust in the Almighty even if he didn't trust those who claimed to be Her people.

Strangely, the place where _ineffable_ was woven blended together seamlessly with the words _lead balloon,_ and the significance of that wasn't lost on him either. He was meant to remember. His peculiarities, his busy brain, were designed to hold that memory for six thousand years. 

He wasn't a failure. He wasn't something lesser, or odd, or broken.

He was exactly what he was meant to be. 

And here he was, wrapped up in the Serpent of Eden, revelling in every sensory input (warmth, tightness, the quiet hissing and the whisper of moving scales, Crowley's familiar scent of evil and apples- still apples after all this time) and knowing that he was loved. By a demon. Which came with another whole boxed set of questions about what he had previously thought was possible and true.

Right now, those questions didn't bother him. They fluttered in the back of his mind like colourful birds, but he chose not to listen. He knew Crowley's love was real, his actions over the last eleven years- or possibly much, much longer- had proved it. 

They'd saved the bloody world together.

_They'd saved the world together._

And now they were snuggled up on the sofa like… well, not like anything really. Just themselves. Like he'd so often wished they could be.

"Tighter, please," Aziraphale whispered. 

"If you were mortal, I'd be crushing your bonessss already," Crowley whispered back.

"Please. It just feels right."

A long, sensual hiss sang in Aziraphale's ear as the pressure increased. "Jussst a little while. Making me hungry."

"Hungry?"

"Sssssa predator thing. Squeeze and crush prey. Swallow them whole. Like the wolf."

"Oh my. Have you ever swallowed a person whole?"

"Only the very worsssst onessss. Don't worry. Won't eat you, Angel." He squeezed a little tighter, and Aziraphale gasped.

"Are you venomous?"

"Only when I want to be. Why?"

No power in Heaven or Hell could have persuaded Aziraphale to give up the real answer to that question. "Just curious," he croaked. "I think it's the sort of question one ought to consider when engaging in an intimate relationship with someone who's occasionally a snake."

"You're ssssssso kinky."

Thankfully, he was spared having to answer that as Crowley gave a final squeeze that left him utterly breathless, and then gradually loosened his grip. He touched the end of his nose lightly to Aziraphale's, and kept his face very close as he unravelled and changed back into his more usual form.

Aziraphale found himself covered from shoulder to toe in skinny, grinning demon. He found it almost as pleasant as being wrapped up in a snake.

Crowley glanced at his lips and then looked into his eyes again, and Aziraphale's heart felt like it might explode. Their faces hovered there, unmoving, for several minutes. He was drowning in a flood of tangled emotions, staring into golden depths that were awesome in their intensity, but unwilling to look away.

At last Crowley smiled and propped an elbow on the cushion by Aziraphale's head, and leaned his temple on his hand. He glanced around thoughtfully. "So when you say, 'engaging in an intimate relationship' does that mean we're finally an official couple now?"

"I hope so. If you've no objections. Although, I'm still not entirely clear on what that entails for us, specifically."

"I think it means we get to spend a lot of time together, doing all the things we thought about doing before, but were worried that head offices might find out about."

"Like that picnic you suggested in 1967?"

"That's one thing, yes." He ran a fingertip along the edge of Aziraphale's waistcoat. 

"And maybe, going to see a show? I hear they do marvellous things with Hamlet these days."

"I'll take you to see whatever show you like."

"They've recreated the Globe, you know. I think they're currently doing a run of Romeo and Juliet."

"I still prefer the funny ones. But I suppose there's a few good bits in that one."

"If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine-"

"Hold on, there's only one of us here who's remotely holy and it's definitely not me." He reached down and took Aziraphale's hand, lifting it up between them. "If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."

Crowley was in fact, actually blushing. Perhaps because they both knew where this scene was going. 

"Good pilgrim," Aziraphale replied, taking the part of Juliet. He could feel the anticipation bubbling up all through him, along with a healthy dose of panic which would have left him speechless if it weren't for the script. "You do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

He let his fingers trail over Crowley's and there was such joy in the caress. They were going to kiss. It was really happening, and he'd started it. And he still had a few lines to wrangle his feelings back from the brink of overwhelming.

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?" Crowley _was_ good at temptation. He played the role perfectly. But Aziraphale would hold out as long as the scene required.

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."

"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."

He wanted so desperately to answer that prayer. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."

Crowley's face drew closer. Aziraphale could feel the heat of his breath. "Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take."

Aziraphale had always liked the feel of things on his lips. He would tap them and pinch them and run the flat of his thumbnail over them. He couldn't keep any kind of writing implement away from his mouth and when no one was around he would sometimes stroke them with one of his own feathers.

So when Crowley, the being he loved more than anything, moved closer still until their lips brushed together, it felt like coming home. It was the warmth of chips wrapped in newspaper, and the rush of speeding through London in the Bentley. It was a feeling more delicious than sushi or crepes or anything on offer at the Ritz, and it was headier than the finest wine in history. It was a single malt that had aged for six millennia. And it was perfect.

Aziraphale couldn't help but whimper. The tiny sound escaped from his throat and made Crowley pull back and look at him.

"Give me my sin again," Aziraphale breathed, catching his face in both hands and pressing their foreheads together. He didn't want to let go. Not now, possibly not ever.

"Isn't that my line?"

"Shut up and kiss me, you foul fiend."

"Whatever you say, Angel."


	4. Tea and Kisses

Crowley made an excellent blanket, and his lips were soft. These were two facts that kept Aziraphale from thinking of much else for some time. There was no need to move, so they didn't. Wrapped up in each other, they failed to notice the world still turning about them. Behind the closed shutters, days grew shorter and nights grew colder, and still they couldn't pry themselves apart.

Which, considering how long it had taken to get here, seemed a perfectly reasonable response. 

They would pause every now and then and just look at each other, brushing noses or foreheads touching. They each shared memories, one talking while the other pressed kisses to cheeks and jaw and even neck. Aziraphale just wanted to kiss Crowley wherever he could find skin. He particularly liked catching the smirking corners of his mouth. Crowley was not satisfied so easily, and tugged at his Angel's bowtie and opened his collar in search of more places to put his lips. He giggled at first, his feet kicking from the tickling sensation, but Crowley quickly pinned him down and adjusted the pressure until it felt very good. 

It was the finest feast Aziraphale had ever eaten. It was more than just the kisses- though they were delicious and every so often he would dare to poke out his tongue, just for a tiny taste. He loved the feel of being wrapped up in Crowley; he loved holding him close and watching him smile; he enjoyed slipping his fingers into back pockets where they were held tightly by the fabric and getting a handful of soft, round bottom. He felt rather daring the first time he did it, but it made Crowley grin and it was a most satisfying sensation, so he let himself indulge shamelessly. 

There was no need to be ashamed of finding joy with someone you loved, someone who loved you back. Crowley was exuding love so potent it was quite intoxicating. He wasn't like the other demons, and Aziraphale wasn't like the other angels. Perhaps the difference was due to all the time they'd spent on earth, but Aziraphale suspected it was there from the beginning. Right back in the Garden, with the lead balloon.

"Too heavy," he muttered once again, the words spilling out unbidden.

"Sorry," Crowley gasped, moving as if to get up.

"No, not you," Aziraphale said quickly, catching his wrists and pulling him back. He flushed at Crowley's puzzled expression. One of the reasons he liked Crowley's face- he was so expressive it was easier than most to guess what he was feeling. "Ah. Um. I suppose I should explain."

"Is there something wrong?"

"Oh my dear, not at all. No, this is wonderful, it's perfect, it's just another of those peculiarities in my wiring."

"Okay, I'm listening." Crowley leaned on a propped elbow, slinking off to one side and offering the tassels for Aziraphale to fiddle with again.

Aziraphale accepted gratefully and fought to find an explanation for something he'd only done in secret for millennia. "Have you ever got a song stuck in your head? One where you didn't quite know the words and you just kept repeating it in an effort to remember them?"

"Yeah. There's a certain amount of that in Hell. What song are you stuck on?"

"It's not a song, it's something else, but the basic principle is the same, I think. I get conversations stuck in my head sometimes."

"Ah, yes. I remember. I had a similar thing while I was waiting for you in the park. Like a broken record playing in your head. Not the most pleasant thing."

"It can be very disconcerting, yes. Some of the memories leave me feeling inadequate or frustrated, but not all of them. I get in a bit of a jumble, that's all, and sometimes words just blurt out. And it's not always things that were actually said, either. I've tried rewriting some of them in my head, trying to come up with better answers. Not that it makes any difference, now that the moment is passed, but there you are. So that's all it was, just a few random words leftover from something long ago."

"Was it me? The conversation you're remembering?"

"You do feature, yes, but that's as much as I'd like to tell you, for now. I will explain in due course, but I'm still building myself up to it."

Crowley chuckled. "Whatever. You do you, Angel. Wouldn't have you any other way."

"That's good to know."

They kissed a bit more, sweet, delicate kisses filled with love and belonging.

"It's getting dark," Aziraphale noted.

Crowley glanced towards the shutters, and then at his watch. "We've just lost track of a week again. I ought to get up and see to the plants."

"Yes. And perhaps while you do that, I'll go put the kettle on."

They took one more kiss, which was a bit more lingering than either originally intended, and then Crowley reluctantly peeled away. 

Aziraphale found the kitchen. It was bright and polished and bare. He liked the chrome, and the swirls in the marble countertop, but it made him feel like getting everything out of the cupboards and leaving it on the sides so that it felt lived in. The kettle glowed with blue light when he switched it on, and it made him giggle. He was in Crowley's flat, making tea, like an ordinary, human couple. 

His hands went up in the air, and he rose up on his toes and let himself bounce around the space, laughing. It soon turned into a gavotte and he was humming an old tune to accompany it. The kettle flicked off and he grinned and clapped and bounced back to the cupboard to look for teabags. He found some loose leaf Lady Grey and a plain white teapot and set it to brew while he took a few calming breaths and tried to achieve a vague sense of equilibrium. 

He heard Crowley's stern voice echoing through the corridors and felt another rush of happiness. He really wasn't as evil as he made out. His recent actions proved that. And Aziraphale wasn't as good, either. He gave in to all kinds of temptations. There were going to be even more temptations now. And he could say yes as often as he liked.

"How's that tea coming along?" Crowley asked as he set the plant mister on the countertop. His arms slithered around Aziraphale's waist, making him squeak at the ticklish spot. Aziraphale glared over his shoulder, but couldn't keep it up when Crowley kissed his cheek.

"Almost done, I think. Where are your mugs?"

Crowley opened the next cabinet along and pulled out an exact replica of Aziraphale's winged mug. He also took down a black one with a forked tail for a handle.

"Oh, how did my mug end up here?"

"It's not yours, it just looks like it. I bought it in case you came over. Wanted you to feel at home."

"When? You haven't left my side since you got back from Heaven."

"I dunno. About… a decade ago?"

"After we got drunk in the bookshop and came up with our plan?"

"Okay, yeah, so I thought it was cute and I got you one."

"And a similarly themed one for yourself, I see."

"They were on a buy one get one free," he shrugged, and let go of Aziraphale to pour the tea. He took it to the breakfast bar, where they perched on high, cold stools and sipped. Or to be more precise, Aziraphale sipped and Crowley slurped. "What am I going to do with you, Angel?"

"Well I suppose we can't just lie around snogging for the rest of eternity. As delightful as that sounds."

"Yeah, you'll be amazed how much more comfortable it is to do that in a bed though. More room for rolling around."

"Right. Of course, you'd know things like that, being a loose-moralled demon and all." Aziraphale lowered his eyes to his mug. He shouldn't feel jealous, but he did.

"Me? Oh you mean- no. Nooooo," Crowley shook his head with distaste. "Not in my job description. I just do the tempting bit, let the humans get on with the rolling around, or the… whatever."

"Oh," Aziraphale brightened. "So you've never…"

"Done any of that kissing stuff before? Nah. Never felt the urge. Except with you, obviously."

"I see. Well. I must say, I'm rather flattered."

"Have you…?"

"Me? No. Never had much of an opportunity, even if I thought about it."

"So you did think about it?"

"I was curious, as much as anything. I like the idea of romance, and happy endings, and obviously I've read a great many books, some of which allude to certain activities expected after marriage."

Crowley smirked. "Angel. Have you been reading naughty books?"

Aziraphale blushed. "Nothing too explicit. I'm still a bit vague on the details of how it all works. But the feeling of wanting to be as close to someone as you can get- that I can relate to."

Crowley slid down from his stool and put his hands in Aziraphale's lap. "Do you want to do naughty stuff with me?"

Aziraphale cupped his face. "Crowley, my dear, I want to do anything and everything with you. In due time. Of which we have plenty."

He pulled him close and kissed him again. Crowley pulled back, taking in the sight of his open collar and ruffled hair. "Do even realise what a state you're in? You look thoroughly debauched and all we've done is kiss."

"We have done rather a lot of it though. You don't seem to look so different."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't quite so tightly laced to start with." He pressed a few more kisses to Aziraphale's forehead and then went back to his stool. "Now drink your tea before it goes cold."

"Thy cocoa doth grow cold," Aziraphale said softly. 

"What?"

"One of Agnes' prophecies. Just popped in my head. Don't worry, I'm drinking."

When the tea was done they just continued to sit there, looking at each other. At last Crowley stood up. "Well I'm sure we could find something more fun to do than sit around here all day." 

"Fancy an outing?"

"Yes, we were talking about that before we got distracted, weren't we?"

"To be fair, you make an excellent distraction."

"How about a walk around Camden? I know it's not what it was, but there's still plenty to see. I could buy you a present."

"That sounds nice. But I think it might have to wait for tomorrow. The markets will all be shut now."

"True. Restaurant? Cinema! We can sit in the back and smooch through the boring bits."

Aziraphale smiled thoughtfully. "It's been a while since I watched a film. What's on?"

"Hang on, left my phone in my jacket. I'll grab it and check."

He disappeared and came back, tapping at the screen. "This is a good one. It's got witches and pirates."

"But you haven't spoken to anyone yet," Aziraphale said, bewildered.

"No, I'm looking on the internet. It's a thing they do on phones these days."

"What's the internet?"

"It's a way of sharing information. Like, what's on at the cinema, or which restaurants are any good, or whether ducks have ears. Which it turns out they do, but they're just holes covered in feathers."

"Like an electronic encyclopedia? In there? Goodness gracious, what will they think of next?"

"It's even better than that, though. You can connect with people, make friends and then wind them up when they turn out to be gits."

"So just another way for you to foment discord, then."

"Exactly. And I can even do it from the comfort of my own kitchen."

"I wonder if it would work the other way, too. Increasing hope and positivity."

"I suppose it does that too. Mostly with cat videos."

"What's the film called?"

"Stardust," Crowley said. "It's not new, but they're showing it in a small, classic theatre which you'll like. More atmospheric. Also, there's romantic bits."

"I'm willing to give it a try," he said, standing up and patting himself down. 

Crowley smiled and stood in front of him, adjusting his collar and redoing his bowtie. "Let's get you presentable first."

"Oh. I almost forgot." It said something about how relaxed he felt that he hadn't noticed. But there was also something deeply intimate about Crowley helping him dress that sent ripples of pleasure up and down his spine. Aziraphale took hold of his neck and pulled him close enough to brush their lips together again. Crowley made a happy sound that was part chuckle and part hum.

"You need to stop doing that if we want to get to the cinema on time."

"Sorry, my dear, you're just too tempting."

"Hmmng. Right, where did we put our coats?"

"On your desk, I think." They walked through a couple of doorways and picked them up. "Crowley?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"Shall we take the car?"

"Unless you want to try the tube?"

"I think I'd like you to drive."

"Is that a euphemism?" he smirked, twirling his jacket on.

Aziraphale took a moment to think. He shrugged his way into his coat with somewhat less flourish. "It's not _not_ a euphemism. I mean, I may be implying more than one layer of meaning." 

Crowley nodded. "On the basis of what you said earlier about bedroom stuff, I presume you're talking about something else."

"Just, that I don't know what any of the rules are, or how couples are supposed to behave these days. But I trust you to show me what to do."

"What on earth makes you think I know any better? Or that I care in the slightest what's expected? Just do whatever you want to do, whatever feels good. And keep communicating. I like it when you talk so frankly." 

"In that case, I would very much like another hug before we go. It's always a little daunting going out into the world."

Crowley was happy to oblige. He put both arms around Aziraphale's middle and gave a good squeeze. "We make our own rules now, Angel. At the risk of sounding like one of your lot, don't be afraid."

Aziraphale hummed softly. "I feel very safe and still rather vulnerable at the same time. Isn't that odd?"

"Maybe. But that's okay. What is it that's got you worried?"

There were a few moments of silence while Aziraphale put the feeling into words. "Being caught. Someone finding out that I don't belong. Here or in Heaven."

"You belong here, with me. Heaven and everyone in it can go shove a very large stick up their arses for all I care."

"Oh, I say. Now there's an image. Would they have to share the stick, or do they get one each?"

Crowley buried his giggles in Aziraphale's shoulder. "One between two," he said at last. "At either end."

"Well that would be frightfully inconvenient," Aziraphale said seriously. "Though I can't say as I completely disapprove."

Crowley pressed a firm kiss on his lips. "You're bloody brilliant, you are. Come on. I want to take you in the Bentley."

"Is _that_ a euphemism?" 

"Absolutely. But for now I'll settle for a drive."


	5. A Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale tries doing the sort of things that normal couples do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in updating! I got involved in Final Fantasy XV, and I was unable to think about anything else for a whole week. Hello, hyper-focus; hello autistic obsessions!  
> Anyway, it's subsided a little now, so I thought I better get this update out there.  
> Thank you for your patience, you beautiful readers. <3
> 
> CW: I can't remember if I've put any in before, but there's a bit of swearing in this chapter. Also some snogging.

The film was most enjoyable. It was a pleasant little cinema with red velvet seats, and ornate walls. Aziraphale's eyes were drawn to the embossed cornices, painted white and gold. There was a glittering chandelier too- not as elaborate as the one in the Paris opera house, and on a smaller scale, but still sparkling enough to beg his attention. He was staring so much that his knees bumped against the rows of seats as they made way down the back row. There were maybe a dozen other people scattered about the theatre, all at least a few rows ahead.

Crowley grinned at him as they sat down and took off his glasses. His eyes gleamed as they caught the light from the chandelier. They held hands over the shared armrest and leaned into each other as the adverts started. Although Crowley was actually taller, he slouched in his seat and rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. Aziraphale inhaled the scent of his hair- it reminded him of apples baked in a bonfire, stuffed with dried fruit and honey. They could watch the fireworks together this year.

The room darkened as the film began, and Aziraphale quickly found himself caught up in the story. He was still very much aware of being so close to Crowley- the warmth of his hand and arm and head where they touched. It pulled at something inside him, like a magnet in his chest, wanting more. He buried his lips in copper hair and kissed him. Crowley slowly turned his face upward, smiling contentedly, brushing noses together again and taking a kiss full on the lips. Aziraphale barely managed to contain a whine and pulled back before he got so carried away he missed the whole film. He pressed his lips once more to Crowley's forehead, and Crowley sighed and settled back on his shoulder. 

But the pull was still there, and it was getting more distracting. Thinking it might be safer, he lifted Crowley's hand to his mouth instead, dragging his lips across the knuckles. It was deeply satisfying. Slowly, he drifted his way up the back of one finger, creeping along kiss by kiss, until he reached the nail. It was so perfectly smooth, he turned his head slightly just to feel it running back and forth over his lower lip.

Crowley caught on and chuckled softly, adding to the movement. He gradually turned his hand until it was fingertip brushing Aziraphale's lip, and then gently pressed it downward.

Aziraphale gasped as strange and intense sensations shot through him. His tongue moved instinctively, as if tasting some delicious morsel, catching Crowley's finger and taking less than an inch of it into his mouth. It was just what he needed. His skin grew warm and his breathing grew heavy. The characters on the screen were plotting something, but he wasn't sure what. The words had lost all meaning.

Crowley tasted wonderful. It was more than the smoked apples and skin and salt; he was delicious simply because of the fact that it was _him._ Because of all the experiences they shared, because of the trust that had grown. The wall that had kept Aziraphale separate from other people was crumbling. The taste was proof of a physical connection, a joining of souls.

He wasn't alone. 

And even better than that, it was Crowley. 

He settled into a gentle sucking rhythm, his tongue slowly tasting and caressing, and felt Crowley shift and lean harder into his side. After a while he moved onto a second finger, and then a third. Crowley lifted his head and pressed their lips together again. Aziraphale lingered a bit longer this time but still had to pull back before he got lost in it. When he turned back to the screen Crowley offered his hand again, so Aziraphale happily resumed sucking. He even managed to pick up the story and enjoy the rest of the film.

Eventually the credits rolled and the lights came up. Aziraphale examined Crowley's fingertips. "If you were human, these would have gone pruney by now."

"If I were human, I'd have a much bigger problem than pruney fingers."

"What kind of problem?"

"Doesn't matter. Good thing I'm not human."

He looked around. "Everyone's leaving. Ought we to move?"

"Yeah. Soon as I remember how to make my legs work."

"How does one forget a thing like that?"

"Some parts of my brain have packed it in and gone off to Alpha Centauri. On account of you doing bloody miraculous things with your tongue."

"I wonder if that kind of thing shows up in the Heavenly reports."

"Shouldn't think so." 

"Although it might count in my favour if it did. Smiting a demon and all that."

"I don't think kissing counts as smiting."

Aziraphale tried to keep a straight face, but his smile leaked out. "Well, you look thoroughly smitten."

Crowley put his sunglasses back on. "You can go off someone you know."

"Now this time I know you're teasing, because you've followed me around for six millennia already." 

"Obviously I'm teasing. I love a good pun as much as any infernal being, I'm only jealous I didn't think of it first."

"Well, to give you your due, I have just sent parts of your brain on holiday." 

"They're making their way back. Look, feet, moving, standing, and with any luck, I might even manage to walk."

Walk they did, through the electric glow of the city at night to a bar that Crowley knew well. Aziraphale wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, but he perched on a barstool and let his eyes wander and take it all in while Crowley got them drinks. The music was noisy, but the lights over the dancefloor were pretty. The dancing itself didn't seem to have any kind of rules to it, people just moved to the music, waving arms or wiggling bottoms. Some of them even did it in time to the beat.

There were two people kissing over on another table. Aziraphale watched in fascination as they opened their mouths wide. He caught a glimpse of extended tongue. They looked happy.

Crowley waved a glass of wine at him, but pulled it back before he took it.

"Just to warn you, this is no châteauneuf-du-pape, but it's better than some of the swill we endured in the middle ages. But if we drink enough of it, we can get completely rat-arsed."

Aziraphale nodded and took the glass. "Chin chin," he said, before taking a nervous sip. It wasn't too acidic. A touch of sweetness meant it would go down quickly. "Potable," he declared. 

Crowley picked up the bottle and led them to a small table whose occupants stepped away as they approached. He turned the chair sideways and draped himself across it. Aziraphale sat in a more traditional position. 

"Why do you keep looking at me like that? It's unnerving."

"Like what?" Crowley asked, leaning into his hand. 

"Like… I don't know. Like you're sizing me up to see if you could devour me whole."

"Hmm. You're not too far off the mark. I don't think I could manage to get you down whole without a certain amount of effort, but I am thinking about how you'd taste."

"Oh my!" Aziraphale gasped, and covered his lack of a suitable reply by taking a large drink. His eyes flicked back to the kissing couple. They looked like they wanted to devour each other too.

There was a squeal nearby and someone ran up and hugged Crowley. They had brightly coloured hair that faded from blue on one side to pink on the other, long and sticking up on top but shaved underneath. They also had a lot of metal in their ears. "Oh my God, is this him? Please tell me this is him, it has to be." 

Crowley pouted and pushed them aside, but he didn't seem to mind really. "Yes, it's him. I finally persuaded him to come out."

They shrieked again and clapped excitedly.

"I beg your pardon," Aziraphale managed to blurt out. 

"Oh, sorry, I get so excited I forget my manners. I'm Robyn." They extended a hand. 

Aziraphale took it, because that was the thing to do. "Azi-"

"Aziraphale, I know. Crowley's told me all about you."

"He has?" he looked back at his friend.

"Well," Crowley pulled a face, "you know, just erm, the highlights. Actually, Robyn, if you don't mind, this is supposed to be a date-"

They squeaked again. "Oh shit, and I'm totally killing your mojo. Sorry, I'll fuck off. Have fun, darlings!"

"You didn't have to send them away," Aziraphale said as they went back to the dancefloor. "I wouldn't mind meeting some of your other friends."

"Maybe later. I'm still feeling all squirmy from what you did in the cinema."

"Still? You liked it that much?"

"I like anything that involves being near to you." He frowned and stuck out his tongue, like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "Bleurgh. What am I saying? Do you realise how badly you're ruining me?"

"I think you're just perfect, my dear." Aziraphale reached out a hand over the table, and Crowley took it.

"Fuck it. I can be whatever the Hell I want to be, and I want to be a nausea inducing, romantic sap, because it makes you smile like that."

They finished their drinks quietly, and Crowley refilled the glasses. 

"I liked your friend's coloured hair. Like an exotic bird. And I like the way they dress here. It's shiny and intriguing. Reminds me of Paris, before the revolution."

"I miss those fashions. You could get away with all sorts of things."

"You know, I had my own corset? Not that I ever wore it out, mind you, it didn't work with the rest of my clothes. But in private, I'd put it on myself, and get it as tight as I could, and just sit reading poetry and enjoying the constriction."

Crowley whimpered. "How in Heaven's name are you still an angel?"

"What else would I be?"

"You don't have any idea, do you?"

"About what?" Aziraphale thought for a moment. "Oh, I see. I suppose it is rather self-indulgent, isn't it? I could blame it all on your influence, but that doesn't seem fair."

"I wouldn't mind taking the credit for corrupting you."

"Well, you could argue that I was using up all my resistance in an effort not to fall in love with you, so I had very little left for anything else."

Crowley chuckled. "You weren't very successful at that, either, apparently."

"I think I did rather well. In a way. At least I never spoke of or acted upon my desires. Until now."

"So, our whole Arrangement doesn't count? Weren't you supposed to be thwarting me?"

"I- oh. Oh dear. That's… not so good."

"Don't worry, Angel," Crowley squeezed his hand. "You couldn't help spreading light wherever you go. You positively exude innocence. You glow with it."

"Oh goodness, is my halo showing?"

"Not so anyone but me would notice."

They reminisced about their favourite fashions, and foods, and music that had been forgotten since the Dark Ages.

When they were feeling drunk enough, Crowley pulled Aziraphale to his feet and dragged him towards the dancefloor. 

"No, bad idea, angels don't dance!" he protested.

"Bollocks!" Crowley said loudly, over the music "I saw you in the kitchen. Come on."

Aziraphale pulled back and stood statue still. "You didn't!"

"I did. It was downright adorable."

"You- you weren't supposed to- I can't-"

Crowley pulled him into his arms, bringing their faces close together. His voice was firm and commanding. "Hush now. Don't fret, Angel. You're beautiful. I saw you dance, and you were so happy, and it was wild and inappropriate and wonderful. Take a breath."

Aziraphale breathed slowly in and out, and the moment of panic subsided. 

"Now look. We're going to have a dance together because it's fun. People might laugh at us, especially at me, but that doesn't matter. In another century they'll all be dead and we'll still be dancing. Dance with me, Angel." Crowley caught Aziraphale's trembling hand and raised it up beside them, snaking his right arm around to the small of his back.

"I'm not sure how."

"Neither am I," he grinned mischievously. "We can get it all wrong together."

Aziraphale had one quick glance around the room, and made a point of bringing all his attention back to Crowley. The music was louder here, and it had a steady beat to it that was primal and heady. Aziraphale could feel it in his chest. He raised his free hand to Crowley's shoulder and let his body sway. They rocked from side to side, bodies pressed together. It wasn't a gavotte, or a tango, or even a waltz. There were no steps to follow, no rules, just being. Together. Sharing a moment. It should have been frightening to be so unscripted, but he had Crowley and it was mostly just exciting. Besides, he knew how to ignore the fear these days, at least when it was something important. 

His heart was beating faster though. He wasn't sure whether it was something to do with the body Adam had given him, but it wasn't something he'd really noticed before. And there was that strong magnetic pull again, a yearning he couldn't even name. He fought it as long as he could, resisting temptation because the longing had a sweet familiarity to it. But there came a point he could resist no longer- not with the music and the movement and Crowley so very close. His hand travelled up Crowley's neck, a thumb tracing over his jaw, and they moved as one, their mouths finding each other.

It was impossible to say who opened first in that tentative parting of lips. Slowly, just wide enough to feel the warm air of a gasp and an exhalation. Aziraphale opened a little wider to see if Crowley would take the bait, and was rewarded with a quick flick of tongue over his lower lip. He shivered and let out a tiny whimper which was lost in the noise. Crowley pulled back for a moment, breathless. Aziraphale gave him a tiny nod of encouragement, and they kissed again, tongues meeting clumsily before slowing down to explore the sensations. To be this intimate with another soul was too much to think about, so he focused on the physical sensations. They both tasted of cheap wine, but there was fire and evil mixed in there too. The wetness was a factor he hadn't anticipated, and he felt the corner of his mouth leak a little before he worked out how to contain it. There was a wonderful contrast of hard teeth and soft tongue, and Crowley's teeth were a little sharper than his own. Aziraphale also liked the intrusion of a foreign tongue in his mouth, filling and caressing it. He liked the feel of long fingers supporting the back of his head, stroking through his hair.

Once he had each experience noted and categorised, he felt more confident to examine the emotional side of things. He found that he was an exquisite, tangled mess of feelings. Luckily, over the centuries he had spent enough time considering and studying to be able to interpret them. Love was there, bigger and brighter than anything else. Something deeper than mere happiness- a profound joy was high on the list too. A touch of fear because it was still all so new and different, but mixed with excitement. And still that want, that desire to keep doing this, to never let go, to go deeper somehow.

His hands tightened and pulled Crowley hard against him. He thought the kissing would satisfy him, but it only seemed to intensify the feeling. He needed… he didn't know what he needed, but it crawled over his skin and squirmed in his belly and other places too. Crowley was writhing very subtly, pressing into him, like he felt it too.

Crowley. Always Crowley. From the moment of doubt on the wall, through centuries of confusion and fear of being found out, to the final, desperate act to save the world. Whenever his faith was challenged, whenever things got difficult, whenever he had missed something important that was apparently obvious to everyone but himself. Whenever he felt lonely. Whenever he felt out of place. There was Crowley, whispering, tempting, supporting. Always Crowley. Crowley forever.

The words echoed in his head, nesting there. Aziraphale knew he'd never let them go. A new phrase for a new chapter. Always Crowley. Crowley forever.

Crowley pulled back and breathed deeply. His glasses had been knocked askew, so Aziraphale quickly reached to straighten them.

"Angel," Crowley sighed.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I…" he made a strangled noise and tried again. "You…"

"Off to Alpha Centauri again?"

"Mm-hm." His fingers moved in circles on Aziraphale's scalp. It felt lovely. 

"Shall we sit down and have some more wine?"

Crowley shook his head dreamily. "Want to keep dancing." 

Aziraphale leaned into his shoulder and continued to sway. And if they got a few odd looks they were too absorbed in each other to notice or care.

They did manage to get back to the table and work through another bottle of wine before the bar closed. Robyn came over to compliment their wild abandon on the dancefloor, and Aziraphale made sure they got a seat this time. It was delightful to see the way they questioned Crowley about the relationship, and the way Crowley squirmed and tried to evade answering while at the same time clearly gloating over the fact that they were finally together.

When they turned the questioning to Aziraphale, things suddenly got more complicated. He found himself getting his words mixed up, and losing the thread of his sentences. They probably thought he was just very drunk, but it wasn't the alcohol. The intensity of his emotions were scrambling his ability to speak.

Crowley squeezed his hand. He saw, he understood. It didn't change the fact that Aziraphale couldn't manage a complete sentence at this point, especially with someone he had only just met, but it made it into an acceptable situation to be in.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, and ran his thumb over the corner of his waistcoat. The new litany found its way out. "My Crowley. Always Crowley. Crowley forever."


	6. A shopping trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas readers!  
> Thank you once again for all the encouragement, and for your patience with updates. They will continue to happen, just a bit sporadically.

When the bar closed they made their way to an all night cafe. Crowley eased himself out of his drunken haze with a series of espressos, while Aziraphale contentedly sipped caramel lattes and nibbled a variety of cakes until the sun came up. They wandered by the river under a bright orange sky, and arrived at the markets just as they were opening.

"Looks like it might rain," Crowley noted. "We might want to pick up an umbrella."

"On the bright side, if it's raining there'll be less in the way of crowds."

In the second shop they visited, they found a large umbrella in bright red tartan, and agreed that it was both hideous and perfect. They ambled around the outside stalls arm in arm, looking at niknaks and jewellery and sampling confectionery. 

Crowley bought a large bag of fudge when Aziraphale tried a piece and made a completely obscene noise at the way it melted in his mouth. A few stalls over he also bought a velvet shoulder bag, saying he had a feeling he was going to do a lot of impulse buying today, and needed something in which to carry it all.

"It is real money you're using, isn't it?" Aziraphale asked with a concerned look.

"Of course it's real money. Why wouldn't it be?"

"No offense meant, of course. I just thought, you know, because you're… well, it might be fraudulent, or some kind of disappearing gold, or…"

"Disappearing… I'm a demon, not a bloody leprechaun!

Aziraphale startled, twisting his hands on the umbrella handle. "I'm sorry, I've offended you."

Crowley sighed dramatically. "If you must know, I've got money set aside. It was more or less expected to get creative with the expense reports, and what with that and a few cunning investments, I'm pretty much set up."

"When you say set up, what does that mean?"

"Look, I took precautions. There was always a risk that someone would find out about us, and if they did, and I somehow managed to escape dismemberment, I knew I'd be on my own. I've basically been skimming off the top since money was invented. I should be able to live very comfortably without any aid from downstairs for some time."

Aziraphale looked up, and watched the rain drip down the umbrella. It wasn't a complicated equation to work out that if Crowley had been saving up that long, he was probably very rich indeed. "How long do you expect it to last?"

"Oh, I dunno. A century or three? Depends on how many shopping sprees I indulge in. Currently the interest alone is more than enough to play with, but you can never tell what's going to happen with inflation and all that. I keep some of it in tangible assets, just in case."

"Tangible assets? You mean like property."

"Well. You know. Gold. Jewels. Stuff like that."

A cheeky smile pulled at Aziraphale's lips. "You mean treasure?"

"Don't start calling me a pirate as well. I tried piracy, it didn't work out."

"Actually, I was thinking more like a dragon. I can just imagine you, all coiled up around your glittering hoard."

"I'm trying to decide if I should be offended or flattered," Crowley mused.

"It certainly wasn't my intention to offend."

"Well, I suppose it's a kind of reptile. And I have been known to breathe fire on occasion." 

"You'd be all fierce and protective of your treasure, striking fear into the hearts of men."

"So long as I don't have to live in a cave again. Caves are damp and drafty."

"Not if you don't want to. You could have a tower. Or even a whole castle. The people of the kingdom would bring you tributes in exchange for your protection."

"I thought they were afraid of me?"

"Oh, they are. Terrified. Which is why they bring you offerings to appease your appetites."

"You're thinking about this in a surprisingly deep level of detail."

"It's a thing I do. Sorry."

"Don't apologise. What kind of thing?"

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"But what if it's funny?"

Aziraphale sighed. He chose his words carefully. "I don't just enjoy books. I tell myself stories. When I find myself in difficulty. It's a kind of escapism, I suppose. I imagine the world how I would want it to be, and it gives me a safe space to run away to when it isn't."

"So, if I'm some fiendish dragon hoarding treasure in my castle, what does that make you?"

Aziraphale thought for a moment. "I hadn't got that far yet. Certainly not the knight who comes to slay you."

"You did make a rather dashing knight, though."

"Do you really think so?"

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't."

"I never felt the role suited me. I seem more prone to end up as the damsel in distress."

"Well, yes, I may have stepped in to aid you now and then, but I was under the impression you could have rescued yourself if you needed to."

"Possibly. But sometimes I get myself in a situation and then it's difficult to think clearly. Often, just seeing you there is enough to clear my head again."

"Still, I can't be the knight and the dragon in your scenario."

"No, but… oh, I see it now. I'm the virgin sacrifice sent to appease you. But it turns out you're not the antagonist, the people who sent me are. And you take me under your wing and help me, and teach me about the world."

"As I remember it, you were the one who took me under your wing."

A tiny spasm ran through Aziraphale, and the only reason Crowley noticed was that he was watching so closely. He chose not to comment on it and linked his arm through Aziraphale's instead.

"Speaking of wings, we should start thinking about these Halloween costumes. If you still want to dress up."

"I do. I was thinking I might make something. A robe of some sort perhaps."

"Can you even sew?"

"Of course. How do you think I manage to make my clothes last so long?"

"Well, I presumed you just miracled them that way."

"Not since I received that reprimand in 1793. Besides, it's a matter of craft and artistry. Although, can I tell you a secret?"

"Angel, you can tell me whatever you desire."

"I've been using a little celestial influence to maintain the fabric so the fabric doesn't wear out. Apart from at the edges of my waistcoat, because I like the feel of it that way. Just the right amount of threadbare for contrast, you see?" He ran his thumb down beside the buttons. It felt like confessing a sin, which, with Crowley, was a very intimate feeling.

"You use your rebellious streak in the most surprising ways," Crowley said, but he reached a hand to Aziraphale's belly to try out the texture. "Hmm. Not sure I get it, myself, but I'll take your word for it. So we need a fabric shop?"

"Yes, and a haberdashery. I might do some trimmings."

"There's a place on the high street that has lots of that kind of stuff. I might look in a couple of shops on the way for something demonish."

"Do you have anything particular in mind?"

"Don't know yet."

"What about something shiny, like they wore at that place last night?"

"PVC? I mean, it's a tad stereotypical, but I might be able to make it work. If that's the kind of thing you like."

"I think so. Nothing too obvious, mind you. I think we'll know it if we find it."

Crowley tried on a couple of things on the way to the craft shop, with various straps and silver bits, but Aziraphale shook his head. "It's not quite you, though. I think it's all too complicated, like it's trying too hard. You need something more elegant."

"Elegant fetish wear? Well, if it's anywhere to be found, it would probably be in Camden. We'll keep looking."

The fabric store was enormous and almost as cluttered as the bookshop. There were whole walls covered in ribbons and thread, and rows of shelves piled with bolts of every colour imaginable. There were velvets and silks, bright sequins and light chiffons. He kept stopping to look and feel and wonder.

He wandered up to some thick, cream wool which looked like it would be wonderfully warm on winter evenings. When he ran the back of his hand over it, expecting it to prickle, it was surprisingly soft. Fabrics just kept getting better.

"Angel, as much as I love to watch you enjoying yourself, if you don't focus we won't make it out of here before Christmas, let alone Halloween."

He tore his hand away from a shimmering brocade and nodded. "Right. Focus. White and gold. Simple materials, nothing fancy." He strode more purposefully down the aisles until he found some white linen, and then nearby another bolt of more natural noil silk. He was only briefly distracted by the range of colours of thread, adding a few reels of white cotton and then spending a bit more time looking at the metallic threads. He rejected a couple as too wiry, and chose a soft gold suitable for embroidery. He picked up a lot of it.

Crowley paid before Aziraphale had a chance to object and placed the carefully folded fabric in his shoulder bag. The rain had stopped when they got back outside. Aziraphale tapped the umbrella on the ground like a cane as they ambled down the street, gazing in windows. He got caught up in the rhythm of the swinging and tapping, and Crowley had to pull him to a halt by the next store.

"This is the last one I'm trying. It'll probably be more of the same, everything's off the rack these days, but you never know."

"That's remarkably optimistic of you."

"Well, it's your first Halloween, I can't let it be a disappointment. Come on."

"Once more unto the breach," Aziraphale quoted.

A quick scan revealed the usual buckled bustiers and trousers with more pockets than you could shake a stick at, but something at the back caught Aziraphale's eye. "There- that's it," he said, and dragged Crowley towards it.

It was a long, black, PVC dress, simple and without embellishment. Its sleeves were almost non-existent, barely covering the shoulders, and the fitted bodice top flowed out from the hips into a full skirt.

Aziraphale grabbed the hanger down and held it up against Crowley. "Do you think it'll fit?"

Crowley caught the skirt in one hand and gave it an experimental swish. "I can make it fit."

"You'll need some jewelry to go with it, I think."

"That's easy. I've got a treasure horde, remember?"

***

With purchases in hand, they made their way back to the car and drove to Soho. Aziraphale suggested they drop their things off at the bookshop and then find a spot of lunch at the sushi place.

"Feeling peckish?"

"Yes. I also want to show you off. But I need to check in and make sure everything is in order too, after a week away."

There were a few letters on the floor when they went in. Aziraphale glanced at the envelopes- one bill, two advertisements and one hand written. It was addressed to "the Angel and the Demon, that bookshop I fixed up, somewhere in London."

He placed the umbrella in the hat stand absently and took off his coat, swapping it for his cardigan, still gazing at the mysterious letter.

"What's that you've got there?" Crowley asked, putting the bags down in their secluded nook at the back of the store.

"I think it's a letter from Adam Young."

"The Antichrist is sending you snail mail?"

"Snails? No, just a letter. Should I open it?"

Crowley flopped down on the small couch and patted the space to his right. "We'll do it together. Just in case."

"In case of what?"

"Well, it is the Antichrist, so you never know."

Aziraphale sat, took a deep breath and opened the letter.

_Dear Crowley and Aziraphale,  
I couldn't remember your address but I still seem to have bits of power to make stuff happen, so I figured I'd put it in the post and hope.  
Things have been much quieter in Tadfield recently, which is generally a good thing. My friends like it better that way too. Although we're back at school now and sometimes it's so dull and boring it makes me wish I had ended the World after all.  
(That was a joke, by the way, don't panic. You might have got it, but I'm used to having to explain these things to Wensleydale.)  
Anyway, the reason I'm writing is to invite you to a party. Anathema needs to make some more friends so I persuaded her that the best way would be to have a Halloween party, seeing as she's a sort of witch and all. My friends and I will all be going and dragging our parents along so they can talk about grown-up things together. But I thought it would be just awesome if we had a real life angel and demon there too. Nobody but me (and maybe Anathema) would know that's what you really are, but I still think it would be cool. And then I can thank you properly for looking after me at the airfield.  
So, 31st October, 7.30pm, Jasmine Cottage, Tadfield. Fancy dress, of course.  
Hope to see you there.  
Adam.  
AKA The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit , Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness.  
(Just kidding. LOL.)_

There were several moments of silence. 

"Well," Aziraphale said at last, "I better get working on my costume." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have dropped a bit of a prompt in this chapter, so if anyone would like to take the task of writing Crowley as a treasure hoarding dragon, please let me know!


End file.
